Archive for June, 2010|Monthly archive page

I have been full of words, but no sentences. Full of thoughts, but no coherence. Full of feelings, but no definitions.

We’ve been away on vacation – to the beach, the sun, the ocean in all her glory. To what I thought would be heaven.

Not so much.

The last time Dearest and I had been to that particular stretch of paradise, he’d proposed. Bonhomme had been nothing but an inkling. We’d walked along the surf for (not quite) miles, looking out over the glorious emptiness of sea and sky. Slept in. Ate out. Browsed. Meandered. Dawdled.

This time, we were beset by throw-up in the car, pee on the sheets, an endless expanse of sand not easily crossed by a one-and-a-half-legged man, and once crossed, a sun too hot and an ocean too cold for a three-and-a-half-foot boy.

This one little part of the world had not changed a bit. Every other blessed thing had.

I’d never felt so defeated.

Then again, I’ve never been so completely worn.

Careworn.

But, this is life. This is what it is. It is the waves rolling, sweeping, crashing in. Again. And again. It is the sand eroding away from under your feet. And your feet settling once more. It is the weather-beaten, barnacled post witnessing the tide with its skin.

I’ve come to realize just how worn away I’ve gotten, and how long a road I have back to who I thought I used to be.

But there is beauty in the raw, scraped, coarsely-polished shell too. Maybe I don’t need to struggle so much on the road back. Maybe I just need to admire my new-old shell, sanded by my own grit – and chart a new road instead. One that accomodates these ridges and edges a bit better. One that flows.

Hands cracked from rolling endless playdoh balls,
Giggles as spoons wiggle, transferring them from pot to pot,
Checks under each lid on the play stove before bed for orange-purple glop,
Remind that balance is a precious thing.